Six hundred and fifty-two pages later

I am to be congratulated.

Light applause, a knowing nod, a pat on the back ~ any of that will be gracefully accepted. Hopefuly you can share in being proud of me:

In a smashing display of utter restraint, I did not participate in the midnight madness rush to procure the sixth installment of the Harry Potter series the very instant it became available for consumption. Instead, I lazily, pseudo-casually picked it up mid-afternoon yesterday from the amply stocked shelves of Target.

And by the end of my marathon reading session at 1:46 am this morning, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince had been completely devoured in full. Over the course of six hours, interrupted by dinner, bath, and bedtime (you know, REAL life), I managed to digest the latest happenings in the wizarding world as seen from within the old-fashioned, hand-blown glass windows of Hogwarts. Admittedly, I was especially dedicated to this task. As we leave early Monday morning for a long-awaited three week holiday in Maui, I was not looking forward to toting this rather bulky hardcover book with me on the plane. My only solution was to read it beforehand, right?

So I did.

I was not disappointed in the least, and actually managed to uncover several of the plot twists before the course of their natural reveal in the pages, which was satisfying. But the ending deeply frustrated and twisted my thoughts, whetting my appetite for the seventh and final book in the series, which is now obligated to resolve the current state of disrepair permeating the manner in which this novel ends. I particularly enjoyed the deeper character development this time around, and found myself again wishing I weren't quite as smacking similar to Hermoine Granger. I often (and sometimes grudgingly, because she can be truly annoying) recognize myself in the eloquently crafted words which mold my understanding of her character.

Truly, another brilliantly enjoyable installment.

In all my life, I remember feeling this degree of investment and interest in a fiction series only twice before: the Chronicles of Narnia and the Frank Peretti triology. I am in debt to such gifted authors as these whose inspired talent manages to conjur elaborate worlds and happenings from thin air and lure us into stories of lives who begin their existence as we open the books and begin to read.